


Open, Locks, Whoever Knocks

by that_1_incident



Series: The Beast With Two Backs [2]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Madam Spellman - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 08:25:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18279485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_1_incident/pseuds/that_1_incident
Summary: A sequel toSomething Wicked This Way Comes, which detailed the positively wicked encounter that might have occurred if Ms. Wardwell hadn't left the mortuary so abruptly following her first face-to-face encounter with Zelda…





	Open, Locks, Whoever Knocks

**Author's Note:**

> While it isn't absolutely necessary to have previously read [Something Wicked This Way Comes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16523309), I'd recommend doing so.
> 
> This sequel was born of a(n anon) prompt originally received by [skatingsplits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatingsplits) and regifted to me, praise Satan.
> 
> See also: The aforementioned [Something Wicked This Way Comes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16523309), as well as [There's Magic in the Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16575416), [There's Something About Mary](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16676707), [Post Tenebras Lux](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16781785), [The Shadowy Murmur of Suns](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16922571), [The Deathly Solace of Presence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17299514), and [The Silvery Glamour of Star-Birth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17659382).

"Aunt Zee?"

The infinitesimal twitch of Zelda's newspaper extends an implicit if begrudging invitation for Sabrina to continue while simultaneously conveying abject displeasure at the wholly unsolicited interruption. Sabrina should know by now that reading about the world's latest mortal bloodshed is one of her aunt's most cherished daily rituals. 

"Remember that Model United Nations thing I told you about?"

Showing no outward indication of having heard the question, Zelda remains firmly ensconced behind the broadsheet.

Sabrina sighs. "Baxter High and Riverdale High are sending a combined delegation to the regional MUN conference," she explains patiently, not for the first time; at this point in her life, she's under no illusion that any information related to her mortal schooling will linger in her aunt's memory for long. "And Ms. Wardwell wants me to go."

Zelda lowers her newspaper rather abruptly. "Ms. Wardwell?" she echoes, aiming for as nonplussed an affect as possible despite the involuntary shudder of her inner thighs at the mere mention of the name. Although her niece has no way of knowing this little tidbit of information, Zelda's actually planning on frequenting the teacher's cottage that very evening to engage in what she anticipates will be an enjoyably satisfying repeat performance of the previous day's activities. 

"Our faculty adviser." Sabrina folds her arms and eyes her aunt reproachfully. "She called about it, like, a month ago, but I think you scared her because she hasn't brought it up since." 

Now that her niece mentions it, Zelda does recall the conversation in question, yet finds herself profoundly unable to reconcile the meek-voiced woman to whom she'd briefly spoken after snatching the phone from an overly excited Hilda with the brazen seductress she'd later encountered prowling shamelessly through the Spellman residence as if she owned the place. " _That_ was Ms. Wardwell?" 

"Um, yeah? So... can I go?"

Zelda takes a drag on her cigarette and slowly exhales. "I'll think about it." 

\--

Situated in about as remote a location as one can find in Greendale, Mary Wardwell's cottage stands in imposing solitude at the end of a trail that appears not to have been in regular use since well before the birth of any of the town's mortal residents. As her heels thud softly against the earth, Zelda catches sight of an incongruous brightness out of the corner of her eye - there's a flyer bearing the name of the Greendale House of Pizza entangled in the brambles framing the path, not far from a set of footprints that seem to head toward the cottage without ever retreating. 

She takes a deep breath, approaches Wardwell's front door, raps on it sharply, then pushes an errant strand of hair off her face while she waits to be granted entry, unsure precisely why the prospect of her impending rendezvous with Sabrina's civics teacher is discombobulating her to such a degree. After all, she's had too many such trysts over the decades to even _begin_ to enumerate, and although Wardwell had proven terrifically skilled with her tongue, that's hardly a reason to -

Zelda's train of thought is expeditiously derailed when the door opens to reveal the teacher herself, clad in a satiny emerald robe that flows over her curves like liquid and shimmers alluringly in the waning twilight. 

"Come in," Wardwell purrs, affixing her with a penetratingly blue gaze. "I've been expecting you." 

\--

As she follows Wardwell toward what would presumably be considered the living room but for the cottage's almost complete lack of internal walls, Zelda notes that a roaring fireplace appears to be the sole source of light, which gives their surroundings an eerily inconstant glow. 

"Welcome to my humble abode," Wardwell says breathily, pasting the same strangely stretched-out smile onto her face that Zelda recalls from the previous day before sinking into an armchair in front of the fireplace. After gesturing for Zelda to do the same, she promptly crosses her legs in a _decidedly_ provocative manner that causes the silky fabric of the robe to pool suggestively at her hips. Her blood-red lips pique into a devilish grin and something dark twists inside Zelda like a knife. "Tea?"

Zelda swallows hard in an ill-fated attempt to mitigate the precipitous dryness in her throat. "No, thank you," she manages.

Wardwell beams. "Excellent," she declares, then stalks over to Zelda and straddles her. 

\--

Mary Wardwell strips without a trace of modesty, shedding her scant attire like a snake to reveal an intoxicating expanse of sinewy smoothness punctuated by the abrupt jut of her hips. Zelda feels her cunt tremble as she watches the firelight flicker across the soft creaminess of the other woman's bare breasts.

"Now you may service me," Wardwell announces entirely too matter-of-factly for Zelda's liking. The witch has half a mind to retaliate by casting a supremely unpleasant spell purely out of spite, but as the steeliness in Wardwell's eyes makes any and all potential incantations die in her throat, she merely bows her head, presses her mouth against a velvety nipple, and swirls her tongue across the rapidly hardening peak. Gratified by the resultant sigh of pleasure, she sucks carefully - and, after a glimmer of hesitation, bites. 

Wardwell reacts by emitting what can only be described as a snarl, fisting a hand into Zelda's hair and dragging her upward in a manner sufficiently bruising to feel more like an attack than a kiss. Zelda's rendered so pleasantly light-headed by this rather violent turn of events that she initially fails to notice when Wardwell's hand clasps around her wrist like a cuff, and although she's half-undressed - her lipstick likely smudged, her hair undoubtedly rumpled - her formidable vanity fades into little more than white noise at the prospect of slipping her fingers between Wardwell's thighs. Indeed, the other woman's already abundant slickness glistens invitingly in the flickering light of the fire, not that Zelda needed any further convincing. 

"What are you waiting for?" Wardwell inquires. While her tone is as airy as ever, Zelda's keen ear can detect an underlying tautness to her voice, a sharp staccato of desire. 

"Not a thing," Zelda responds, and plunges inside her. 

\--

True to her word, Mary Wardwell _does_ make a great deal of noise, reaching her climax with a series of guttural groans wholly unlike any sound Zelda's coaxed from previous partners. Zelda watches in thrall, thoroughly flooded at the sight of such a powerful creature writhing in ecstasy; when their eyes meet, Wardwell's gaze is feral and ravenous in its intensity, priming Zelda's body for release to such an extent that the other woman needs only to roughly jam a thumb against Zelda's flooded heat and administer several swift strokes to push her over the edge. 

\--

Because there's truly no suitable opportunity to postcoitally segue into the topic of Sabrina's mortal schooling, Zelda decides a doorknob declaration is as good as any, which is how she comes to be standing somewhat awkwardly on her niece's teacher's front step, broaching the astonishingly tedious subject of the upcoming Model United Nations conference and trying to ignore the persistent tingling of her thoroughly mauled cunt. There's just one problem: Said teacher doesn't seem to have the foggiest idea what she's talking about. 

"Model _what_?" Wardwell rather theatrically raises her eyebrows, and Zelda's tempted to laugh at the fact that the other woman's able to maintain her haughty demeanor despite the teeth marks clearly visible on her clavicle. 

While Zelda typically allows the majority of Sabrina's mortal-adjacent prattlings to go in one ear and out the other, she's positive her recollection is correct, yet the utter blankness on Wardwell's face suggests the contrary. "United Nations."

Something clicks into place behind Wardwell's eyes. "Yes, well, we'd _love_ to have her," she says with a startlingly exuberant warmth, and an odd silence hangs in the air as Zelda gazes at her searchingly, waiting for more. "Sabrina will be a welcome addition to the... " Wardwell trails off, squints slightly, then bats her eyelashes decidedly vigorously before concluding, "proceedings." 

If anything, the exchange only serves to reinforce Zelda's growing suspicion that there's more to the other woman than meets the eye, and she realizes with some degree of satisfaction that they'll need to spend considerably more time together if she's to have any hope of putting all the pieces together. 

"The conference," Zelda supplies as witheringly as she can muster. She mentally pats herself on the back for paying such close attention to the wildly inconsequential details of her niece's mortal endeavors and reiterates with more than a hint of passive-aggression, "Sabrina will be a welcome addition to the _conference_."

Wardwell's answering smile is as wide as it is chilling. "Precisely."


End file.
